Kindness

It hasn’t been a particularly rough day. Or week. My son started preschool and it’s been fun and exciting. We’ve been running errands and doing this and that. No big deal.

Today Hannah had her 2 year well-child check up. She’s growing like a weed and is in the 80-90th percentiles for height and weight. She did have to get two shots which she was not thrilled with at all. Poor girl! She laid down and did everything the doctor told her and getting pricked by needles was the thanks she got! As a responsible parent, I know vaccinations keep our kids healthy, but it sure is hard to watch them in pain, even if it’s just shots.

After that, we grabbed a quick lunch date and then headed to Oak Harbor to pick up some uniform shirts for the hubbs. He’s been asking for these shirts for almost a month now.  And EVERY SINGLE TIME I keep forgetting to pick them up and mail them off.

Hannah is of course sound asleep by the time we pull in the parking lot to get the shirts, so I carry her dead weight (30lbs!) while I pick up the shirts, get her back in the car (still asleep) and instead of driving across town to the post office it dawns on me that there is a post office on base (duh!). So I pack up the care package, tape it up, address it and fill out the required USPS form. I drive over the the post office, get Hannah out (sleeping) and precariously balance the large box and form on my hip and walk to the post office door. I’m stopped by a USPS employee and she informs me that the post office on base closes at 1pm.

It is now 2:45.

UGH.

Not missing a beat, she climbs out of her mail truck and asks me if it’s addressed to an APO/FP address (the foreign/military addresses). I tell her it is.  She then offers to take it across town since she is on her way to the other post office and would gladly take it for me. I ask her the cost of the box (it’s one of the flat rate boxes) and she says, “13.77.” I had a 5 and 3 ones on me and was planning to use the debit card.

Meanwhile, a screaming jet is flying overhead threatening to wake up sleeping Hannah. The mail lady calmly places her hand on Hannah’s back, calming her and keeping her settled, then says to me:

“Here, why don’t I pay for your postage, and mail you a receipt to your return address? You can mail me a check when you get your receipt.”

I immediately burst into tears. I thanked her profusely. She hugged me and kissed my cheek.

It wasn’t the 13 bucks. The amount was really irrelevant. It was the fact that I had a sleeping baby, looked harried, had been running all over town and the last thing I wanted to do was to drive all the way across town for one more stop. I was humbled and very grateful.

A seemingly small, tangible act of kindness that melted my heart.  She was kind. She cared. And then she acted. Thank you doesn’t cover it.

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